“You could have said, ‘Dad, stay for dinner.’”
His jaw tightened.
“I was embarrassed.”
The answer surprised me.
“Of me?”
“No.”
He stared at the sugar container between us.
“Of the situation.”
“What situation?”
“You and Chelsea.
The tension.
The way she talked to you.
The fact that I kept avoiding it.”
“Why were you embarrassed?”
“Because I knew it was wrong.”
The words were simple, but they landed heavily.
I had expected him to defend himself.
To say Chelsea had been stressed, or that I had misunderstood, or that everyone had been tired.
Instead, he admitted he had known.
“I thought if I stayed out of it, things would calm down,” he continued.
“She’d be nicer.
You’d stop feeling hurt.
I kept telling myself it wasn’t serious.”
“It was serious to me.”
“I know that now.”
“No,” I said quietly.
“You know it because I left.”
